


careful, love

by hubblestars



Category: Holby City
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 21:47:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16146200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hubblestars/pseuds/hubblestars
Summary: “Could you pass the milk, dear?” Henrik asks, and they both freeze.At the word dear, old hopes (ancient, forgotten fantasies) slip back to Roxanna in a rush of pain and colour; a whispered sweetheart into her neck, a gentle darling against the top of her thigh. Roxanna steps backwards, her full mug of tea still sitting on the bench, and opens her mouth to speak. Then she closes it again, because her heart is stuck in her throat.





	careful, love

**Author's Note:**

> 5 accidental pet names (and one not so accidental). I miss these two already

*

The first time, Roxanna is scribbling equations frantically, her pen running back and forth and back and forth against the scrap of paper on the desk in front of her. The lab is messy, today, much to John’s distaste; there are test tubes and folders strewn across the floor as they work. Over the scratching of pens and  _ clink clink  _ of glass tubes, soft music drifts through the room from a worn record. Roxanna looks up only once to grin at her friends. Henrik is already looking at her, smiling with his eyes in a battered old jumper. It feels oddly peaceful. Not for the first time, Roxanna is reminded that now she has a  _ family,  _ and it is more than she ever could have asked for. 

Hours later, when the sun is setting in gentle reds and yellows through the fogged up windows, Henrik stretches. His jumper rides up his stomach, slightly, reveals the pale, smooth skin under the wool, and Roxanna promptly forgets whatever she had been trying to work for the entire evening. She stares at him for a moment, and her flushed face is safely tucked away by the light hair falling over her ducked head. Henrik takes a final swig of his coffee and moves to wash his mug by the sink. 

  
Only he never gets there - there’s a textbook by Roxanna’s ankles and Henrik stumbles. Roxanna catches him by the arm before he can fall and holds him still; the sleeve of his jumper is fuzzy and warm, and Henrik, Roxanna thinks with no lack of amusement, is like some mismatched, gangly teddy bear. He looks down at her with a surprised, peculiar, open expression. It’s the most vulnerable she’s ever seen him. The room falls quiet.

“Careful, love.” Roxanna murmurs.

The endearment slips from her easily. It’s as if she’s said it a million times before - as if she hadn’t known Henrik for mere months. Neither of them notice John staring from across the room with his teeth clenched, as they are far too absorbed in each other. The moonlight slips through Henrik’s hair and makes his eyes glimmer in the dim light of the lab.

“Thank you, Rox.” Henrik says, quiet, and steps away with his eyes concentrating very determinedly on the floor. Roxanna wonders if she’s done something wrong, for a moment, until she notices the subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  _ Careful, love.  _ It’s as if Roxanna has confessed something utterly important but far beyond her reach without meaning to. Yet… she wouldn’t take it back, not in a million years.

**

Henrik leans against the wall and sips from his wine, and to anyone who was watching, he would look, for the life of him, like he was relaxed. Often, his eyes seemed cold and far away; now, though, they were completely focused on the figure of Roxanna that had come to life on the dance floor. Roxanna moves gracelessly but with an infectious, lovely energy, that makes everyone around her feel the urge to stop and stare. Henrik wishes that he could be up there with her.

Roxanna laughs with the music and leans against the shoulder of one her friends,  _ alive,  _ and Henrik feels a stab of longing. She is beautiful, he thinks as she twirls, isn’t she? 

The night slips into morning and there are hands on Roxanna’s back that aren’t Henrik’s (will never be his, should never be his); she is swaying on her feet, now, almost asleep. It’s only when she looks over to him and mouths  _ come here  _ that he moves from his position on the wall and snakes his way through the thinning crowd of students to take her home. Roxanna smiles at the sight of him coming towards her, and stumbles forwards. She’s drunk off her head and a little sleepy, and her hair is matted against forehead with a thin layer of sweat, but even flushed and weary she is utterly gorgeous.

“Time for bed, Roxanna.” He murmurs into her hair (it smells of vanilla and dusty alcohol) and pulls her out of the crowd. She willingly comes, and when they’re in the chilled streets with the sky twinkling above them she presses her head into his shoulder and snakes his arm around her shoulders like they’ve done it a million times before.

Roxanna’s humming _ dancing queen  _ under her breath and stepping in time with her own music in the empty street; Henrik feels a confession of some sort bubbling in his throat, although he doesn’t know what on earth he would say. You’re brilliant, charming, reckless? You turn me upside down? There is only the longing to say  _ something,  _ anything, that would express the enormity of his feelings. 

“Good night, sweetheart?” He asks instead and feels a glint of regret at the nickname that has slipped past his tongue. But Roxanna only smiles at him and steps closer under the stars, so she’s pressed right against his side. Warm and steady.

“Mhm.” She murmurs, and then in her drunken state a burst of inspiration makes her jump away from him and stretch her arms out to the skies. Roxanna glows under the moonlight in her pretty white jumper and her breath comes out in a pale fog from the winter cold.

“The world is ours, Henrik!” She exclaims, to nothing in particular.

Henrik tries not to smile. The world is ours indeed, he thinks, as Roxanna returns to him and slips her arm through his.

 

***

There are neat boxes stacked in piles all over Henrik’s bedroom; they’re full to the brim, and Henrik hauls another full cardboard box onto the pile with a grimace. The organisation of it all - the systematic stacking and storing - soothes the ache that has begun to rise in his chest. It bubbles in his stomach or burns in his throat; it stings like the paper cuts on Henrik’s fingers from throwing away University papers. 

It’s Graduation day.

Henrik tries hard not to think about it (about leaving Roxanna and John and what happens  _ after _ ) as he pulls books from under his bed. He arranges them alphabetically for no reason except the pretense of control. When he reaches the bottom of the pile he thrusts his hand beneath the bed again and his fingers brush something that… isn’t a book. Henrik’s heart catches in his throat as he pulls out Roxanna’s record with trembling hands. 

Memories of lying with her on his bed and letting the record drift over the room come back to Henrik in a painful series of images; they hide themselves in Henrik’s cardboard boxes. He remembers nights with her, precious nights without John, talking about everything and nothing while Roxanna’s music breathed with them in the darkness. He had wanted to kiss her, then, press his lips to the spot between her brows or the corners of her mouth, but when Roxanna had looked back at him with wide, hopeful eyes, he had turned to the window and, as always, had ran away.

_ It’s getting late,  _ Henrik would say, his fists clenched in his lap, and then...  _ Coward,  _ he’d hiss, to the empty bedroom, after she’d shut the door quietly behind her with one last, glimmering smile. He had never savoured those quiet moments enough. Henrik runs his fingers over the cover of the record, and his vision blurs.  _ I’m a fool,  _ he thinks, as he slips the record into the last box and seals it shut,  _ a cowardly, dastardly fool. _

There’s a gentle knock at the door and Henrik turns in tears to the frame of Roxanna leaning in the open doorway; she’s in that long purple coat he loves so much, the collar turned up, and her smile is unbelievably bright in the dull light of the morning. There’s something about her that makes Henrik’s heart stop and start again; he feels off balance and unsteady. Tears slip from his eyelashes and wet his cheeks, and as Roxanna watches him, he tries hard not to weep.

“Oh, Henrik.” She says, with a fading smile, and Henrik tries to remember when they got so old. 

As Roxanna drops her bag onto the carpet there’s a quiet  _ thump  _ and then she’s walking towards him with her arms outstretched. She wraps her arms around his stomach, small enough that her head rests against the gentle beating of his heart. Henrik, frozen, notices that her hair still smells like vanilla and that she’s so very warm. He wants to wrap his arms around her back, wants to press her closer, wants to put the tip of his chin on the top of her (frightfully pink) head and close his eyes because it might be his last chance. But he can’t - he could never. Henrik just tries to breathe instead.

“We’ll be okay, darling,” Roxanna whispers into his cardigan.

When she pulls back and searches his eyes, her own cheeks now wet and glistening, Henrik thinks she might kiss him. She’s certainly far too close; close enough that he can see the little blonde eyelash on her cheek. He reaches down to brush it away with a shaking thumb, and as she blinks and blinks he can’t help but give a tiny, cracked smile.

“I know,” Henrik replies, his hand poised in the air even as she steps backward. “I know.”

****

Roxanna stares at the kettle as it rumbles, but she only half hears it; the staff room of Holby City blurs in and out of focus as she thinks, and it’s only when the kettle gives a sharp  _ click!  _ that she jumps and blinks, and the world becomes steady again. She still isn’t quite used to being back at Holby permanently; even after all of these months, it is somewhat surreal to be working with John again, not to mention being by Henrik’s side. Yet… even after the shooting, even after David’s death, she is happy to be there.  _ Home,  _ she thinks and pulls a mug from the cupboard.

The door slips open and Roxanna turns to see Henrik stroll inside; he smiles at her briefly and then looks around the room for a moment as if he has forgotten the reason he walked inside in the first place. Things have been… different between them, Roxanna wonders, as she swirls her tea bag in her mug. He is not the same Henrik that he used to be - he is far more reserved, and a lot quieter, than he had been when they were young. But that is to be expected; she, after all, is not the same Roxanna Macmillan (bold and wild and free) that she was before. Sometimes, though, when they are working together, or having a drink, she thinks she sees a glimmer of the old Henrik in his quiet laugh. Roxanna smiles to herself, her tea long forgotten. He may not be clad in his old fuzzy jumpers, but he is as caring and as  _ brilliant  _ as he always was, and that is enough.

Her heart jumps when Henrik reaches up to the cupboard to get a mug for himself; he’s  _ so close,  _ too close, and he’s wearing a new cologne. Roxanna drops her spoon in surprise and it clatters against the side of the mug; Henrik looks down on her in that amused way, his eyebrows slightly raised.

“Good morning, Roxanna,” He murmurs, “Is everything quite alright?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Roxanna says brightly, and she feels like she’s quite convincing; yet it is harder here, in the softened morning, when the light is slightly scattered through the blinds of the staffroom and casting shadows on Henrik’s cheeks, to be closed off. How hard she had tried to keep him away from her heart, for all these years, but she still hasn’t learned her lesson.

Side by side with her old friend, making the tea of all things, Roxanna feels the same dull ache she had felt in Henrik’s bedroom when he had cried on Graduation Day. How much things have changed, she thinks, her shoulder pressed against Henrik’s as he holds the handle of the kettle, and how much they haven’t.

“Could you pass the milk, dear?” Henrik asks, and they both freeze.

At the word dear, old hopes (ancient, forgotten fantasies) slip back to Roxanna in a rush of pain and colour; a whispered sweetheart into her neck, a gentle darling against the top of her thigh. Roxanna steps backward, her full mug of tea still sitting on the bench, and opens her mouth to speak. Then she closes it again, because her heart is stuck in her throat.

“I’ve just remembered, I have a rather urgent-” Roxanna nods more than is strictly necessary. “Yes. I’ve got to dash!”

Then she’s gone, and Henrik, still holding the kettle in the air, stares after her with one eyebrow raised.

*****

Roxanna stirs in her sleep and then her eyes slip open; the hazy hospital room comes into focus, and the dull  _ beep, beep, beep  _ of her monitor steadies her. She turns her head to see Henrik curled up in the armchair beside her bed; his face is pale, his mouth is wide open as he sleeps, and his neck is at an odd angle, but Roxanna has to try hard not to smile despite herself. 

Her back aches from laying in a hospital bed for too long, and there’s a throbbing in the back of her head; many mornings she has woken like this, tired and in pain, and Henrik has always been there beside her. Roxanna is aware of how close she came to dying (knows how John almost killed her, felt how she skimmed death, heard Henrik calling for her in her last moments) and the thought is a constant flicker of terror in the back of her mind. But when Roxanna stirs and opens her bleary eyes, there is the comforting presence of Henrik Hanssen, with a loose tie and a  _ good morning  _ for her, every time.

She swings her legs out of bed and tries to rise, but it is too early and Roxanna is much weaker than she used to be. She stumbles on unsteady legs and almost falls, but Henrik's hand shoots out from the armchair to hold her steady. 

“Careful, love.” He murmurs, still half asleep; his hand is soft on her bare arm, and for a moment, because he is hazy and gentle and not fully awake, Henrik squeezes her arm. Roxanna wonders whether he remembers that day in the lab, too, and the memory of what they have lost is all too heavy between them.

“Thank you, Henrik.” Roxanna whispers, and Henrik gives her a lopsided smile.

How long, she thinks, when Henrik settles back into the chair and lets Roxanna rise from the bed, can we keep this up? 

*

When Roxanna is fully healed and back at work, they slip back into the same uneasy friendship that they’d had  _ before  _ the incident with John. Henrik mulls over this distant companionship as he scratches his pen across more Keller paperwork. The office is quiet around him; only the tweet of a bird and the gentle patter of the rain outside disturbs his work. He takes a sip of coffee every once in a while, and tries not to think about the melancholy feeling in his chest - the one that pleads with him to tell Roxanna how he feels before it’s too late.

There’s a knock at the office door and then Roxanna slips inside; it’s clearly time for the end of her shift, as she’s wrapped in her scarf and a new green coat. Still beautiful, Henrik thinks, because although she now has wrinkles by her eyes and a quietness to her smile, there’s still something about her… Roxanna smiles and perches on the edge of a desk.

“I just thought I’d let you know that I’m off, for the evening.” Roxanna says, and Henrik puts down his pen with a smile. “You can come round for a drink, later, if you like.”

“I’d like nothing more.” Henrik motions to his paperwork. “I need something to look forward to, it seems.”

“It appears so.” Roxanna quirks a smile. “And Henrik? Thank you. For… well, for everything, really.”

“You do not need to thank me for help I willingly gave and would give again, Roxanna. It is the duty of friends, after all, to look after one another. You know that.” Henrik smiles wider and cocks his head to one side; there is a tenderness to her expression that he wants to keep. 

“Henrik-” She begins, “I thought you might want to know that I, um, I have a date. Tomorrow evening.”

A familiar sting makes Henrik turn his head away from Roxanna’s closed expression to the fogged up window; it is the thought of Roxanna with someone else that makes him tap his shoe five times on the carpet and straighten his paperwork. There would be another man (a worthier man) with his hands in Roxanna’s hair, his lips against her throat… He had known, he had always known, that this would be the case, but it still hurts. 

“Well then.” Henrik tries to smile, but when he meets her gaze his voice cracks. “I wish you well. Truly.”

Roxanna pauses and then steps towards him; she is unreadable, and he longs to reach out for her. 

“I suppose the time has well and truly past, hasn’t it?” He murmurs, into his paperwork. Roxanna holds out her hand - then pulls back, her breathing in time with the rain and her eyes tired.  _ Too late,  _ Henrik thinks, as she turns to the door in a flash of green,  _ too late _ .

Henrik stands.

“Roxanna?” He calls. Roxanna turns to him. “Good luck, darling. I hope he is worthy of you.”

_ Darling.  _ He says it on purpose. A goodbye - like Roxanna’s quiet farewell, her own sweet _we'll be alright,_ _ darling,  _ on Graduation Day. The words hang in the air, and Roxanna seems to struggle to breathe - Henrik smiles, tender and open, because he wishes her the best, and if she finds happiness without him (which she will, which she deserves) then he, too, will be happy.

One moment Roxanna is broken in the doorway of the office and the next she is coming towards him; Henrik doesn’t have a moment to compose himself before she stands on her tiptoes and wraps her hands around his neck to kiss his cheek for perhaps the last time.  _ Vanilla,  _ Henrik thinks, standing still.

“Thank you.” She murmurs. “Good evening, Henrik.”

There is a silent moment afterward as her gaze flickers towards his mouth - Henrik nods, closes his eyes, thinks  _ please,  _ and she surges up towards him and kisses him the way he never was brave enough to. She tastes of coffee and Henrik can’t remember his own name; he can only place his hands at the small of her back and kiss her back with as much love as he can possibly muster. 

“Took us long enough.” Roxanna murmurs against his mouth, and Henrik can’t help but smile and press a kiss to her forehead. 

“Hm. No date then?” Henrik whispers against her skin.

“No, love.” Roxanna laughs. “No date.”


End file.
